


you're so fucking special, i wish i was special.

by mrspotatohead



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Het Relationship, Child Abuse, Comfort/Angst, Cute, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Falling In Love, Fights, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Homeless Jughead, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Promises, Revelations, Romance, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Teenagers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspotatohead/pseuds/mrspotatohead
Summary: Betty's mom hits her, and Jughead finds out.tw for violence and child abuse, stay safe guys!





	

Jughead thought of Betty as an old fashioned cliche that was splintered and ripped around the edges; a girl so heavenly that even angels would have damned themselves for her. She was so alive and she burned so brightly - a masterpiece made up of blinding smiles and soft hands and and an utterly golden heart. She was a ray of solitary sunshine peaking through the clouds after a long and brutal thunderstorm. But above all she was achingly, quietly,  _human._

And she was crying. 

"Mom, you know I'm not her. You _know_ I'm not Polly," she whispered, ignoring the way her voice kept cracking with the effort it took to hold back the insistent tears that were burning behind her eyes. She was scared to talk too loudly, scared to make the wrong move. Her mother regarded her coolly for one silent moment, her spiteful gaze blazing with the most intense disdain she could muster. Betty felt her stomach drop, and a familiar kind of icy fear was beginning to pound in the depths of her heart. A feeling she had first experienced at six years old.

"I told you not to mention her," she replied bitterly after a while, her tone was dangerously low and lethal. A sharp chill ran up the younger girl's spine and the ever thickening tension in the room was becoming unbearable. There was too many unsaid words, too many horrible memories, and far too much bad blood.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-," 

"You know what," Alice interrupted, crossing the kitchen in three quick strides so that they were face to face. "You're right. You're not Polly. You're _worse_."

The insult scorched Betty from the inside, immediately snuffing out any hope that her mom would let the matter go. In fact, she seemed to be getting angrier by the second, once her temper had been tested it usually couldn't be quelled or contained, it pretty much had a mind of its own. She would just keep pushing until she got what she wanted, whether it was an apology or an explanation or a reaction. She always wanted something, but nothing was ever enough. Her cheeks were flushed a dark and ugly red, a vain began to throb in her temple and her jaw was clenched tightly in indignation and disgust, a look that could only mean trouble.

"Mom, I -,"

"You're worse because at least we know why Polly acted like that, at least we know that she was sick! You, on the other hand, are just an insolent little girl that needs to remember how to respect her parents. I've _never_ been more disappointed in you than I have been over these past few weeks," she ranted, her voice growing higher and higher in pitch as she spoke. Spittle was flying from her mouth and her face had taken on a slightly deranged and disconcerting look, full of sheer hatred and loathing that made her seem all the more frightening. Betty stared at her in disbelief, open mouthed with her fists balled tightly by her sides. She could feel the blood welling up along the small grooves that her nails had made in the palms of her quivering hands.

 _Just count,_ she reminded herself in her head, _count to sixty slowly and don't say anything, just stay quiet, don't make it worse, she'll go away eventually._

"Look at you," her mother laughed mirthlessly, taking her slight reaction as insolence. "You're pathetic."

A second of completely earth shattering silence, in which they both missed a beat - one shaking with fury, the other numbly looking down at her feet, every muscle tense and on edge. A gaping need to escape, to leave and never come back threatened to consume Betty entirely, and she was tempted to just let it.

"Listen, um, I'm -," she tried as soon as she found her voice, terrified agony writhing in her stomach. The words tasted like acid on her tongue. 

"Don't you dare tell me what to do, you ignorant little-," she spat instantly, one hand shooting out and closing around the younger girl's wrist until it went numb with pain. 

"Just shut the fuck up, and let me talk!" the words tumbled past her lips before she could stop them, surprising her just as much as they surprised her mother. Alice recoiled as if she'd been slapped, her eyes wide and twitching in outrage and incredulity. She sucked in a harsh breath and, recovering from the shock, pulled back her fist so it collided harshly with Betty's face before she even knew what was happening, before she had the chance to back away. An instant and intense pain shot through her cheek as her jaw cracked and her neck snapped sideways, blood coating her busted lip. Her mother was breathing heavily above her, positively fuming with unadulterated rage and adrenaline. Just as her head began to stop spinning and the pain began to slightly subside, Alice grabbed her tightly by the neck and squeezed so hard that bruises instantly blossomed beneath her fingers.

"You live under my roof, I do everything for you, and _this_ is how you repay me?" she uttered, one arched eyebrow raised mockingly. Betty felt her breathing become labored and she coughed desperately, trying to get some oxygen into her lungs, her mind going vaguely blank and fuzzy. Smirking with a sick type of satisfaction, her mom let her go and pushed her backwards so that she stumbled onto the tiled flooring, disoriented and hurt.

The younger girl found her balance and looked up hesitantly, her whole being burning with pure fear as her lip smarted and her throat ached. Alice was standing extremely still, ghostly pale with her hands resting on her hips like she was chastising a two year old toddler. 

"Well don't just stand there, dear. Go and clean yourself up. You've smudged your makeup, you silly girl. Won't that friend of yours be coming over soon?" she asked in an attempt at a polite voice, but it made the hair on Betty's arms stand up. She nodded slightly, knowing that she had to give some form of response, though the only thing she could focus on was the blood dripping down her chin.

"Well, be sure to leave your bedroom door open," she said lightly. "We don't want you turning out _exactly_ like your older sister."

And with one final, twisted smirk she turned around and walked calmly out of the kitchen, patting down her blonde hair as she did so.

Betty waited for a few seconds, glued to the spot in dazed astonishment. She brought a hand up to her lip and looked at the smear of blood it left on her fingers, feeling unsteady on her feet. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she tried in vain to pull herself together. Her nose prickled like she was about to cry again, and she felt a warm rush of tears flood her eyes, but she determinedly held them back. She wasn't weak. She was okay, she was okay, she was okay.

As soon as she got to her room, with her hands still shaking and her lip still weeping, she opened up her makeup bag and began to cover up the remnants of the argument: the bruises on her neck and the deep cut that adorned her slightly swollen mouth. She went over the day in her mind, trying to see what she had done wrong and why her mother had been in such a foul mood. She knew she'd been acting less than perfect lately, which by her mom's standards meant she was going off the rails completely, but their fights never usually got so physical.

Sure, there had been a few other occasions - but it wasn't like it was _abuse_ \- they had a nice house, a good car, they were moderately respected within the community. She had clothes and a phone and food on the table, she had everything she could possibly need. It was okay. They were just going through a rough patch, that was all. She was just being stupid, getting overly worked up about things like she always did.

The only thing keeping her from collapsing onto her bed and staying there for the rest of the night was Jughead, and even the thought of him lifted the dull weight in her chest a little, made it easier to breathe. He was coming over to help with some homework, and with that in mind, she hurriedly rubbed some concealer over the deep purple blemishes and rolled on some dark lipstick, making sure the injury was sufficiently hidden in the process.

As she scrutinized her reflection critically in the mirror when she was done, she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that she looked okay. _Normal_ even, with nothing out of place or suspicious to indicate that anything had happened. She looked as she always did, with her neat ponytail and wide, winning smile - the dutiful daughter, the caring sister, the model student. She wondered briefly what would happen if they all saw her for what she really was, if they all knew the truth. Would nothing change, or would everything change? Did they like her, or did they like the person she was pretending to be?

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of the doorbell ringing shrilly throughout the house, and she jumped at the sudden noise. Rolling her eyes at her own foolishness, she stood up and headed for the stairs. A feeling of gladness and warmth was spreading slowly but surely through her chest, and excitement was bubbling inside of her at the thought of seeing the one person that would make her feel alright. Before she answered, she tightened her ponytail and smoothed out her dress, getting ready to put on the act that she had grown so accustomed to playing.

"Hey you," Jughead smiled as soon she opened the front door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. He was clutching a massive bag and shifting his weight from foot to foot, back-lit by the soft pink hues of the sunset that had painted the sky outside. For a minute she froze, wondering if he was going to spot anything odd, but he didn't say anything and something unclenched inside of her; the iron grip on her heart lightened slightly.

"Hey Juggy," she recovered quickly and grinned genuinely back at him, feeling better than she had all day. With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him inside. Her throat hurt with the effort it took to speak normally, and the bruises on her neck felt like they were getting worse by the minute. She ignored it of course, and pushed the pain away like it meant nothing, trying to convince herself that it didn't matter, that there was more important things to worry about.

"Want anything to eat? Or do you just wanted to get started on this mountain of work?" she offered, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. He huffed out an amused laugh, tilting his head to the side as he thought it over.

"It's probably best if we get started, but I wouldn't object to grabbing something to eat afterwards - like, together? If you want," he shrugged casually, but there was a hopeful edge to his tone. She chuckled softly, throwing him a knowing look.

"Sure, sounds like a plan," she said, trying not to sound too eager, and then started back up the stairs. She enjoyed the feeling of quiet reassurance and utter ease that always came along with being in his presence. 

"Your room's nice," he commented as they walked in, glancing curiously at the gently glowing lamp in the corner, the white full length mirror and the pictures of friends that she had stuck around it.

"It's okay, I suppose," she nodded halfheartedly, and then giggled at his apparent fascination.

"Are you kidding me?" he looked over at her as he sat down on the bed and started unloading the textbooks. "It's awesome, I'd kill for a room like this."

"What's your room like?" she asked, sitting down next to him with her back resting against the wall. His eyes flickered up to hers for a moment before he looked back down at the homework, she took note of the small crease that had appeared between his brows.

"Oh, you know," he swallowed, and then pursed his lips. "The usual. Much messier than this, to tell you the truth."

She laughed, and his mouth quirked up into a reluctant smile at the sound of it.

"I wouldn't expect anything less, Jughead," she joked, opening her bedside cabinet for some pens and paper. He snorted and pushed her shoulder lightly as he shook his head, raising his eyebrows at her insinuation.

"Oh, shut up Betty, you know you love me," he retorted playfully, letting his gaze linger on her for a second longer than usual. It made her feel warm quietly thrilled to be looked at like that.

She swallowed another grin and threw a pen at him, which he caught with sarcastic 'thank you.'

"So, what's the verdict? Math or Science first?" she sighed, wrapping a loose strand of her hair around her finger as she spoke. He flopped down onto his back and let out a long breath, clicking the top of his pen distractedly. 

"God, it's like choosing between cancer and AIDS," he uttered bitterly, and she couldn't stop the exasperated laugh that bubbled past her lips.

"That's a bit far," she smirked, flipping through one of the open books with mild interest. 

"I guess Science is the lesser of the two evils," he relented, sitting up again and grabbing a book. She hummed in agreement, relieved that she wasn't going to have to do any algebra; at least biology wasn't so boring that it was sleep inducing. 

"Hey, can you pass me some paper?" he asked after a minute, realizing that he didn't have any. She nodded, still looking down at her textbook, and reached out to give him a few pages. And just like that, it really was that simple - it felt like the whole world had stopped spinning. He looked at her closely, all narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, an unidentifiable expression taking over his sharp features. She glanced up in confusion when he didn't accept the paper and saw him staring at her intently. A blush rose in her cheeks but she ignored it, wondering what the problem was, wondering if she'd done something wrong.

"What?" she said, confusion evident in her tone. He looked back down, and she followed his gaze. Comprehension dawned on her face and her heart stuttered in her rib cage. Her wrist was exposed and the blue, finger shaped bruise on it was clearly visible in the low lighting. She felt her throat close up a little, her mind trying desperately scrambling to think of some half believable excuse. 

"What the hell is that?" he questioned, dropping his pen and taking her arm into his hand. Each word felt like a bullet to her chest. She shook her head, bullshit explanations dying in her throat.

"Nothing - Just, it was an accident," she lied, trying to pull out of his grip. He let her go, and considered her closely for a minute without saying another word. She looked at the bed spread beneath them, and the homework, and the lamp in the corner - anything but his penetrating gaze that made her feel like she was standing in front of him completely naked, completely vulnerable.

" _What?"_ she repeated eventually, her cheeks on fire with embarrassment. 

"You're lying to me," he said in a low voice, finally tearing his gaze away from her to look down in resigned disappointment. Shame washed over her almost immediately and she shook her head helplessly, wishing she could tell him everything while simultaneously wishing she'd been smart enough to wear a bracelet. 

"I'm not, I-," she broke off as he looked back up at her, his glacial eyes glowing with distrust. 

"You don't get bruises like that from an _accident_ ," he pointed out, his voice inflected with a raw and strained type of pain. His jaw was clenched and he was playing with the hem of his shirt anxiously. She should've known, she should've realized that if anyone was going to figure it out, it'd be him. He was too smart not to, too observant. 

"I just," she hesitated, running her tongue over her bottom lip. It was still sore, and the throbbing cut felt kind of deep. "It's complicated."

"Did someone hurt you? Is it someone from school, Betty, because I swear to god I'll,-" he blurted out, trying to catch her eye. 

"It's not anyone from school," she interrupted weakly, and then immediately regretted it. He stilled, studying her closely like he was trying to memorize every last detail of her face. She silently prayed that the makeup was doing its job. 

"So it is someone, then," he countered, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. 

"Can we just drop it?"

"Oh, yeah, _sure_ we can, you know what, we'll just never talk about it agai- shit, Betty your lip's bleeding!" he sat up sharply and took her chin in his hand, any trace of sarcasm or bitterness had evaporated from his expression as quickly as it had arrived. She winced, prodding her lip gingerly and cursing under her breath when her fingers came away bloody. He grabbed a tissue from his pocket and dabbed at the small trickle of blood lightly, trying to figure things out.

"Hang on, is your-? Is your lip busted?" He faltered, inching closer so he could get a better view of it. There was a look of infuriated bewilderment in his eyes, a gaze filled with sincerity and heartbreak and even a hint of the softest kind of love. 

"Jug."

" _Betty._ This isn't right. You need to - fuck, you need to tell me what's going on," he all but begged, cupping her cheeks carefully with his hands and threading his fingers through a few of the loose curls of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She had never heard him sound like that before - gentle, and warm, and like he actually cared about something for once. Like he cared about her. And that was why she hesitated, that was why another poisonous lie never made its way past her lips.

"Right now, you have to tell me right now," he urged, forcing her to look at him properly, his thumb and forefinger grazing the bottom of her chin. He was so close that she could feel his warm breath ghosting her cheekbones when he spoke. She closed her eyes momentarily, the foundations of everything she had worked so hard to build, to conceal, quivered and shook as if they were moments away from collapsing.

"It's bad," she whispered, barely audible as she backed away and pulled her knees into her chests, out of his reach. She couldn't even look at him. She hated herself for getting him involved. 

"How bad?" he sounded like he was dreading hearing the answer as much as she was dreading telling him it.

"Really fucking bad," she sighed, and lapsed into silence, trying to stall for time. He quirked his eyebrows at her, waiting.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me."

Another sigh, and she shifted where she sat huddled on the bed. He watched her quietly, looking like he wanted to murder all of humanity on her behalf. 

"It's-," she paused. "It's only - just," she shook her head, frustrated and unable to get the words out.

"It's not _only_ anything, Betty. It's not _just_ anything," he sounded so stubborn, so sure of himself. One part of her believed him wholeheartedly and wanted to kiss him then and there just for existing, and the other wanted to scream at him, tell him he didn't know what he was talking about. She didn't end up doing any of those things, though. She closed her eyes, she counted to sixty. He sat in front of her patiently, chewing his lip. Then, she said in a numb and controlled sort of way:

"It's my mom. It was - it _is_ \- my mom."

He stared at her in disbelief for a second, his face wiped of any conceivable emotion. Then he stood up from the bed abruptly, knocking over all of the text books in his haste, not that he noticed. He paced the bedroom, running a hand over his chin. His back was turned to her, but his stance was rigid and stiff, she could practically feel the frenzy of anger that was radiating off of him. She looked away, feeling the blood drum in her head.

"We're doing something about this. _I'm_ doing something about this. She's not getting away with it, you hear me?" his voice was wrecked and mutinous, cracking and breaking over the words as he spoke. She stood up to face him, her eyes glued to his back in awe, wondering if she'd heard him right.

"No, we're not. Fucking hell - we're _not,_ " she insisted, and a waxy wave of blinding hot panic washed over her at the mere thought of it.

He didn't say anything, just clenched his hands into fists and stared at nothing.

"Jughead. Look at me," she demanded, every iota of her voice was a warning. He turned around and closed the gap between them, walking towards her so that they were standing right in front of each other. She felt a lump quell in her throat, and his heart broke for her in the hollow of his chest.

"Betty," he sighed; his face was pale and drawn. "I think you can be anything you want to be in this world, but the one thing I can't let you be is _afraid."_

A tear spilled town her cheek before she could stop it, and her mascara bled around the edges. He wiped it away softly, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. 

"What she's doing is abuse," he continued, and as he said it she thought she saw a sheen of tears glint in his eyes, too. She noticed with a start that his hands were shaking rather violently.

"No," she denied vehemently, but she heard the lie in her own voice. 

" _Yes_. And I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. But I need you to know, you deserve to know that this isn't right," he pressed on valiantly, and she had never seen him look more devastated than he did right there, as he stood in front of her in the middle of her bedroom.

This time, it was her who didn't say anything. His frown deepened and he watched her for a moment, like he was figuring something out.

"You do _know_ that this isn't right?" he muttered, afraid of what she was going to say.

"I told you before, it's a messed up situation, okay? It's complicated, it's not black and white," she shrugged, unable to bear the look of horror that was dawning on his face.

"That wasn't an answer," he surveyed her with guarded eyes. "Do you think what she just did to you is right?" his voice caught pitifully in his throat. It hurt to hear.

She hesitated, weighing up her options. 

"No. I guess not."

He forced a laugh, but it sounded for all the world like it was a sob. He looked down at his shoes for a minute, arms folded across his chest.

"You're a terrible liar, Betts," he whispered. A wave of emotion flooded through her and she felt another avalanche of tears building up; everything was too much and she was simply not enough. 

"You don't get it, Jug," she said, wishing she had it in her to explain, wishing he would understand. He shook his head, looking like he a had a million things to say but no idea how to say them. He brought his hand back up to her cheek, gaze focusing on her split lip. A shadow crossed his face as he glared at it, something dark and ancient and haggardly venomous. 

"I do. I do get it. I get that she's manipulative. That you're her daughter and she's using you like you're her possession, like you're an object she can show off," he vented, meeting her eyes again. She was shocked to see that they were filled with an overwhelming and profound amount of sadness. She never wanted to see him look like that again, not for anything.

"What I really don't get, though," he shook his head, lost in thought. "Is why you think that anything, _anything_ you've done is enough to justify her treating you like a fucking punching bag."

She merely stared at him, staggered by the weight of his words.

"You're so _good_ , Betty. Too good, actually - too good for me, too good for anyone. And you don't even realize it. Because I know what you do, okay. I see it everyday."

She couldn't fathom a reply, but she inclined her head questioningly, barely suppressing a sob.

"You put on that smile, and those dresses, and your makeup. And then you put everybody else first and you play the part of this clean cut, selfless, wholesome good girl. _That's_ what you do. And you play the part well," he nodded, a hint of desperation falling over his features. 

"But it must be so fucking exhausting," he continued sorrowfully. 

"It is," she nodded, letting the tears fall freely, letting the insatiable ache inside of her take over until she felt sure that she had become a void of misery, a black hole in space and time itself. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead; both of them felt like ghosts stuck in a hellish, perpetual limbo.

"So I need you to know this: you don't have to pretend with me. Never with me," another pause, in which they both held their breath. The silence that hung around them felt heavy and honest, whispering all of the things they were both too scared to say.

"And -," he wavered. 

"And what?"

"And you haven't been treated the way you should've been treated."

She let the full impact of what he was saying enter the most deluded, the most damaged parts of her mind. She let herself believe, for one fleeting and glorious second, that he was right. 

"Jughead?" she said delicately. 

"Yeah?"

"I love you. I really, really love you," she found that she couldn't look away from him as she said it, she was mesmerized by everything from the curve of his lips to the way his hair crested at the nape of his neck. His face broke out into a smile, a real one, and she felt like she could've happily stared at it for the rest of her life.

"I know you do. I love you too, of course I do," he kissed her without warning, trying to put everything he felt into one short yet remarkable moment. It made them both feel more alive than they'd felt in years - because sure, the world was fucked, and Riverdale was a complete mess, and they were only teenagers trying to survive from one day to the next, but for the first time they felt like they mattered, simply because they mattered to each other.

When they drew away from each other, both stunned into relative silence, she felt an unexpected thrill of encouragement run though her, like maybe everything really _was_ going to be okay. As long as she had this kid by her side, as long as they had each other. She wondered how on earth she'd gotten lucky enough to have him in her life, how many coincidences and chance situations in the entirety of human history had happened to lead to them two standing in her bedroom, putting their own world's in each other's hands.

"I'll get you out of this, I swear to god I will," he vowed, finally finding the courage to speak.

She nodded, but she didn't know if she could let herself believe him.

"Hey," he said. "I promise, alright? And I don't break promises."

"Thank you, Jughead. I mean it. I don't know what I'd if I didn't have you," she admitted truthfully, resting her head against his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer. It felt nice to be so close to somebody, feeling his touch was like stepping out of the shadows and allowing the sun to warm you from the inside out.

"Want to just forget about homework and go to Pop's? It's on me," he questioned, kissing the top of her head. She relaxed into him, the fire and agony in her soul momentarily vanishing. 

"Yeah. I'd really like that," she agreed, managing a smile. 

And as they left, walking hand in hand to their favorite place, Betty looked at the moon and the stars winking down at them from the abyss, and she felt lucky. 

But more importantly, she felt safer than she could ever recall having felt before. Like she was home.

**Author's Note:**

> turns out i can't write lol
> 
> kudos and comments are really really appreciated ahhh thanks for reading


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